


Junkie

by solongsun



Series: Maps [3]
Category: Dir en grey, the GazettE
Genre: M/M, Recreational Drug Use, gay for pay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-11 15:01:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16477769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solongsun/pseuds/solongsun
Summary: Toshiya.





	Junkie

**Author's Note:**

> You **will** have to had read Maps for this to make sense/have any kind of context.

He heads nowhere in particular. He jams his hands in his pockets. It's cold, and he veers off down some steps on impulse, cutting through a late-night subterranean mall; clothing store, clothing store, pay toilet, camera shop, record store. He pauses at the window, his eyes skittering over the display without taking any of it: from the open door of the shop they're playing a Beatles song that doesn't match the fast pace of his mood or the frenetic way his heart races: _yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away_...forget it.

He's itching, and he's sweating, and there's a mild sort of cramping feeling starting in his stomach; what one of his more comically-minded dealers refers to as _starting your period_.

He blows on his cold fingers, flinches when the shopkeeper appears at the door to caution him sharply to move along. It's fine, it's fine, he's not crazy, he knows how he looks; he offers an apologetic sort of grin and then hurries away, wishing his legs would shake less, wishing the night wasn't so cold, wishing his mind would shut the fuck up for a minute; he climbs some steps in a daze, emerges above ground and almost smacks into a life size bus shelter advertisement featuring a cute girl in a bikini; shivers, _fuck_ , why is it so fucking cold.

He backs against a wall for a moment, his vision wavering uncertainly around the edges. He turns his wide eyes up towards the sky and sees that

 

_the moon is huge and bright and they run as a straggling line, the tallest ducking his head to pass under the low-hanging branches of the trees; easily, athletically he boosts himself over the wall, to where the metal rails of the train line glitter in the darkness._

_'C'mon,' somebody says in his ear, and he gets closer; squats down and touches the track just to say that he has. He can feel it vibrating; in the distance he can see a pinprick of light growing larger and larger as it approaches, and he straightens up._

_'It's coming!'_

_'Get ready...'_

_'Get closer!'_

'Toshiya—'

_Their words are lost in the blare of the train's horn as it screams past them, the carriages so close that their eyes water and their hair blows straight back from their heads; one of their number stumbles backward in the slipstream, and Toshiya keeps his eyes so wide that he won't possibly miss a moment, the freighter no more than two inches from the tip of his nose—_

_And then its over, the night empty again, and the four teenagers fall about laughing on the grass verge, flopping back to down, bones still rattling with the nearness of the miss. For Toshiya, his fifteen year old body limp on the grass, it goes to his head like strong drink; the rush in his veins, the thudding in his temples. Adrenaline makes the cords stand out in his neck and the veins rise in his arms: the perfect high._

_'You've got a deathwish,' Toshiya's friend Kaoru says to him, and he grins as he lights up a cigarette._

_'Yeah?'_

'Yeah _. Every time you get closer. You're gonna get yourself killed. Splat. One of these days.'_

_Smiling up at the cloudless sky, the colossal shape of the mountain silhouetted against it – a patch of deeper darkness, like a shadow's shadow – Toshiya shrugs and lets out a blue lungful of smoke._

_'Hey,' says that same voice from next to him – seeming, to his ears, to fade in and out like a bad radio, though Toshiya can't say why – 'I forgot to tell you; my parents say you can't sleep over again tonight.'_

_The rush is fading, and Toshiya lets his head rest back against the thick grass._

_'Yeah?' he asks._

_'Yeah. Something about the sink being broken and a plumber coming early in the morning; I don't know.'_

_'I don't mind.'_

_Kaoru shrugs. 'Sorry, man.'_

_'That's okay.'_

_His friend pushes himself on his elbows; looks down into Toshiya's face with an expression that he can't quite identify. 'You going to be in school tomorrow?' he asks a little tentatively, and Toshiya smiles._

_'If I feel like it.'_

_There's a pause in which Kaoru looks at him uneasily, but in the end he smiles back. 'Okay.'_

 

_So Toshiya walks home heel to toe, heel to toe along the train line. He teeters to either side, his arms spread wide as he balances along the rail, and when he wobbles he hops off instead of letting himself fall, making for a dark line of evergreen trees in the near distance. Pushing through their dense branches, he comes out on top of a short row of houses, none of them all that big nor that well-maintained. Each one has a scratchy patch of yard at the back, kept in by high stone walls to stop the bigger snowdrifts from blowing in down the mountain in winter; Toshiya makes for the third house on the left and cuts through a tiny gap between two properties – not an alleyway, not even really a passage, just a forgotten little scrabble of land where stinging nettles grow and rats nest in spring. Trusting the darkness of the night to camouflage him, he edges closer to the nearest lit-up window and, with tiny movements, inches the warped wooden frame down an inch or so._

—suppose it's _my_ fault that your children are all delinquents? Staying out all night and smashing street lamps, throwing rocks at cars, and some example to them _you_ are with a bottle in your hand every hour of the day, not held down a decent job in months—

_There's a retaliatory crash and Toshiya flinches back, ducking beneath the window frame. His heart races and he slips a hand over his chest beneath his T-shirt, rubbing there as if to soothe it._

_He pauses, gathering himself. He stares up at the night sky; takes in how hard the stars look, how distant._

_Then, stealthy as a burglar, he retraces his steps to the back of the house. He has to climb the wall, here; standing on it and stretching up, he can just about reach the sill of the lone upstairs window, sticking out of the roof at a drunken sort of angle. It's open; he always leaves it open. A little wriggling, his strong stomach muscles tensing, and he's managed to clamber his way in. It's almost soundless._

_And he doesn't take much this time: just a sweater from his closet, a woollen beanie hat, an old blanket that the moths got to and made holes in. He hesitates over pawing under his bed for a nude magazine, but there's a creak from the staircase; in a flash he's edging himself over the window-ledge again, dangling for a moment in empty space before his feet find the wall and he rights himself, dropping gratefully to the ground._

_He figures maybe tonight he'll just go and sleep_

 

beneath the railway arch, his breath rising in a white mist before him. It smells damp here, and there's a nest of boxes and blankets where somebody else will sleep later; he leans back against the curved concrete wall, arches his back, shivering too hard to be really seductive. Clumsily, he smiles.

'I need three thousand for a hand job, and it's another fifteen hundred if you want me to use my mouth.'

'Are those, uh, negotiable?'

He weighs it up briefly; shakes his head. His hair sways around his face, sticks to the cold sweat beading on his neck; it's too long, ragged, in need of a cut.

'How about...'

His company is nervous and almost brusque with it, making blunt gestures towards his body. 'If I wanted – you know – sex?'

He shakes his head again, wraps his jacket a little tighter around his freezing body and huddles into it. 'Sorry.'

'Well...I guess – I'm not too crazy about – about blowjobs.'

Toshiya tilts his head to the side, accidentally thumping it against the wall behind him where he's shaking too hard to control it. 'No?'

'No. Makes me nervous. _Teeth_...you know...'

'Wild,' Toshiya laughs, shaking his head, and reluctantly takes his hands out of his pockets. He holds them in front of his mouth; blows on them to warm them and rubs them together efficiently. 'You got the money?'

'Yeah, sure.'

He busies himself digging for his wallet whilst Toshiya pushes up his sleeves; his forearms are a weird bluish colour in the gloom. He rubs them distractedly, trying to get the goosebumps to go down. The cash is presented, and flashing a quick grin, Toshiya tucks it into his pocket.

'Cool,' he says. He moves to unbuckle the other man's belt straight away; hesitating just makes it awkward. He pushes the man's pants and underwear down just far enough for his cock to be accessible; it's sort of _half_ hard, not really here nor there yet, and Toshiya wraps a careful hand around it.

'Sorry,' the man says, 'I'm sort of – nervous.'

'That's okay.'

'Can I—?'

He moves his hand clumsily, pulling Toshiya closer towards him; he rests his face against Toshiya's shoulder and he can feel his mouth there, a little scratchy from beard stubble, kissing his neck. His hands go inside Toshiya's jacket, but he's not touching so much; they go under his T-shirt but stop at his waist, just feeling the shape of him. The mouth moves further up his neck, kissing behind his ear excitedly, and Toshiya adjusts his body a little bit to get a less awkward angle. The other man's dick is fully hard in his hand now, and he strokes at it with a fast rhythm, alternating towards short caresses at the head and longer, firmer rubs down the length of it; a tried and tested combination. His moving arm flashes grey and white, grey and white in the dark.

'Hey, kid...'

'Uh huh?' Toshiya asks, concentrating.

'That arm doesn't look too good.'

Toshiya tweaks his sleeve down a little over the crook of his elbow.

'It's nothing.'

For a moment the only sounds are flesh on flesh and heavy breathing. Toshiya counts the weeds pushing up through the paving slabs at their feet. He's at sixteen and wondering if he can count that little patch of grass or not – is grass a weed? – when his companion gives a choked sort of groan and cums abruptly in his hand. Smiling, Toshiya shakes it off and then wipes his palm along the wall behind them.

Over the other man's noisy breathing he can hear a sort of vibrating noise, too; the kind of hum that draws nearer, deepens to a roar. His smile widens. He leans his head back, waiting whilst the other man fumbles with his zip and belt, and keeps his eyes wide open as, on the other side of the concrete overhead, a late train thunders by. A pigeon that's been roosting up in the shadows flutters away in an offended sort of way; a slick black city rat darts out the mouth of the arch. Only Toshiya stays completely still, listening to the scream of wheels on track and wondering where the train's going. It's such a familiar sound, but every time he hears it the only thing he can ever think about is

 

_'—running away,' he says excitedly, leaning forward over the desk. 'I've got it figured out.'_

_Gracefully, Kaoru snorts._

_'Oh yeah, nice one. Where exactly are you gonna go, Toshiya? Diving for pearls off the gulf of Thailand, or are you gonna keep it more realistic and just go backpacking through Germany?'_

_Toshiya smiles; a genuine smile, unpretty._

_'Thought I'd keep it to this country, first,' he says lightly. 'Go to a big city or something. Tokyo, or maybe Osaka.'_

_'Or maybe you could start with Nagano City, since that's a bit closer to home,' Kaoru says, mock-sensibly, and flicks his friend gently in the side of the head. 'Daydreamer.'_

_Toshiya just shrugs, folding his arms on the desk and resting his cheek on them. Maybe it's an endearing sort of sight; Kaoru gets that flustered sort of look to his face, and he looks away when Toshiya smiles up at him._

_'Does that mean you won't come with me?' he says, careful to keep his voice from sounding too serious, and Kaoru gives another derisive snort – his favourite method of communication._

_'Yeah, sure,' he says heavily. 'We can take turns. You can piggyback me, and then I can piggyback you, and that way we won't need to bother with shit like money or a car.'_

_Toshiya just shrugs again, a little awkwardly given his position, and hides his smile in the crook of his arm._

_'Hey.' A pencil taps him gently on top of his head, 'You aren't serious, are you?'_

_The words circle around his head meaninglessly, like so much slow smoke:_

_You aren't serious._

_You aren't serious._

_You aren't serious._

_And it's only broken when the bell rings for lunch and Kaoru gives him a careful sort of look and says_

 

'You aren't from around here, are you?'

The man flicks a lighter and Toshiya leans into its soft flame, touching the tip of his cigarette to it daintily.

'Nah.'

'You come from someplace rural?'

He shrugs. 'Sort of.'

'Anywhere I would have heard of?'

'Maybe. I'm from all over,' he says non-committally, and the man surprises him by laughing.

'Don't suppose you have a phone number or anything, do you?'

Toshiya smiles. 'Sorry.'

'And you definitely don't do...?'

'Sorry,' he repeats, hugging his body tightly against the cold; in the time he's been resting against the wall its sunk into his bones, and its making it hard to think. What's next? Clear it up. What's next? Focus. A walk...a walk now. Maybe hop the barrier at the train station, see how lucky he feels. Barrier. Train. He blinks, tries to steady his vision. A room in an apartment in Kabukicho, and a bag of brown. He smiles.

'You eaten?' the man asks him, and Toshiya snaps out of his daydream. What's the guy still _doing_ here? Normally they leave right away, and uncharacteristically, Toshiya feels an itch of annoyance. His stomach hurts, and his head is spinning, and it's so fucking _cold_ and he can't stop shivering, and he's sweating, and he just – wants – a hit. It's becoming pretty fucking urgent; as a matter of fact he's making it a fucking _imperative_ , and this guy decides that he wants to play twenty questions?

'Dunno,' Toshiya says abruptly. 'Not hungry.' His arm is throbbing painfully at the pulse point, making him feel sort of sick; he nods and smiles and makes as if to leave but stumbles, catching himself painfully against the wall side of the arch.

'Woah—' A pair of strong hands steady him and he inwardly rages against them, pushing himself back upright.

'Thanks.'

'I think you need a doctor.'

'Nope. Nothing broken, nothing bruised.'

'No, I mean...I don't want to be rude, but you look pretty ill.'

'Just a cold.'

'Your arm looked – kind of infected.'

Turning to him, Toshiya gives him a warm, reassuring smile. Gently, he kisses him on the cheek.

'It's nothing,' he says, his voice soft but firm. 'I'll see you around, maybe, okay? I've really – I've gotta go.'

There's a faltering silence in which it seems as if the man won't let go of him, but thankfully he does.

'Okay, but...wait, just wait a second. Just – what's your name?'

Already at the mouth of the arch, Toshiya turns, clutching his clothes tight around his skinny frame.

'What's yours?' he asks instead of answering.

'Kaoru.'

'Oh yeah?'

Hesitating for a moment, he smiles.

'That's a nice name.'

 

He walks to Ikebukuro station in a dream, watching the shapes his breath makes in the city lights. There's a policewoman at the western exit so he doubles easily back on himself and slips in the eastern side, making his way casually up the stairs to the JR line platform. The next train isn't for nine minutes so he hangs around, shivering hard and feeling the heavy dampness of his sweaty T-shirt clinging to his back; he pushes his hair behind his ears, tries to look respectable, tugs down on his sleeves and hugs himself fiercely for warmth. The train comes in, a reassuring sign, and he waits a dignified moment before hopping over the barrier – his legs are shaking, but he does an okay job – and climbing aboard just in time for the train doors to start chirping as they close. There are a few people in his carriage, but none of them seem to want to look at him: Toshiya leans against the doors, letting his eyes fall closed. The light in here is yellow and he can feel the vibrations going into his bones. It's a ten minute ride, fifteen minute walk at the other end to Kabukicho...the numbers flicker stupidly in his head. His arm throbs. Delicately, he peels back his sleeve and then retracts it again: whatever, he'll use his right arm for a bit.

He loves standing on the train: knees spread apart, rolling with the jouncing, rattling motion. His hands slip greasily on the bar. He disembarks a little reluctantly at Shinjuku station, gets caught hopping the barrier by a guard and has to sprint out of the building with his heart thudding uncomfortably in his chest; his jacket gets snagged by something and tears, _shit_. Outside, the night smells dirty and the sky has an orange glow. He jitters the whole time he's walking, casting frequent looks back over his shoulder, and it's funny how it sort of reminds him of

 

_walking out of the school gate, his bag riding uncomfortably high on his back from the way he's gripping the strap. His mind feels strangely empty and lucid, like he's watching this happen to somebody else. Nobody gives him a second look._

_He wonders how long it'll be before his parents notice he's gone. He wonders what Kaoru will think when he doesn't show up for afternoon lessons – that he's skiving, maybe? And then when he doesn't show up to school tomorrow?_

_He reminds himself that it's not too late to back out, but somehow it just doesn't feel very right or true. The fact is, his feet have started him walking down a certain path, and he's got the weird, clear-headed feeling that his fate lies that way for better or for worse. He takes a smooth, deep lungful of cool mountain air. He feels very faintly ill._

_Kaoru will be worried, probably, and then angry. Maybe he'll tell. Maybe people will come looking for him._

_Probably not, though._

_A few fat drops of rain hit the pavement in front of him, and then one spatters on his cheek. He figures hitch-hiking is an option, but the best way to travel a long distance quickly is to take the train. He doesn't have a lot of cash but he can maybe charm his way on board; he's good at that, people like him, they always seem to want to_

 

'— _help_ him! Somebody!'

The voice drills into his ear like an icepick and he opens his eyes blearily. It's still night. His mouth tastes awful, and with a quick apologetic glance to whoever has their sympathetic hand on his shoulder, he leans over and spits. He finds his body sort of collected in a pile, randomly bundled together like something tossed into a garbage sack, and weakly he sets about untangling himself.

'No no, just stay still. What's your name?'

He blinks blearily. 'Kaoru?'

'Okay, Kaoru. Do you remember what happened?'

'Huh? No. It's okay.'

It's a woman, he notices belatedly, and gives her a lopsided sort of grin. Amid squawked protestations he clambers to his feet, using the wall to support himself; he glances around to get his bearings, his head spinning confusingly, and figures: good, he's close by. He fights the urge to spit again; he can see a little puddle of vomit on the pavement – just bile, no substance, it'll be easily washed away by the rain that's started sifting down – and realises it must have come from him. Ah.

'Sorry,' he says cavalierly, 'Came over dizzy. Low blood sugar.'

Looking into his face, the concerned woman takes a step back. She lets go of his arm, and Toshiya wonders what she's seen there that's clued her in. He bullies his face into a reassuring smile, trying to tell her with his eyes that he's not going to lunge at her, or anything. He sees himself as if from the outside for just a moment – all huge eyes in his pallid, sweaty face, matted hair, dirty clothes – and shakes his head to try and bat the image away.

'Thanks for picking me up,' he says as briskly as he can manage, 'I'm okay now.'

Without looking back he starts to walk, trailing the tip of one finger along the wall to his left for stability. The rain smells sooty and unclean. On wobbling legs he reaches the right place, somehow stuffs his aching body through the doorway and forces it up the narrow, stuffy-smelling stairwell; he knocks on the door and has the sensation of being thoroughly eyed through the peephole before he hears the sound of a deadbolt pulling back. Obediently, he arranges his face into another smile.

'Evening,' he says cheerily.

'Hey. Wait here.'

He never pays much attention to this part. He daydreams; swaps a few damp and crumpled banknotes for what he needs, trips back out into the rain. It's important to find a good place, but here's the secret nobody tells you: when you're desperate, any place is a good place. He ducks off into an alleyway behind a restaurant; it's cramped and full of commercial waste bins and all the smells associated with them, but it's got a good enough roof overhang to keep him dry, and there's even a little warmth coming from the kitchen vent. His kit is a needle, a spoon, his lighter; he yanks the lace from his boot and pulls it around his arm as a tourniquet, tightening it with his teeth because his left hand is a little too clumsy to do the necessary. Shooting up with his wrong hand is going to be a pain but the veins in this arm are _great_ , huge and blue; you win some, you lose some, he guesses.

He's shaking so much it's hard to do this right. When he gets the hypodermic full he's weirdly struck by how pale and defenceless the skin of his arm looks, and he gives a mirthless snort at his capacity for squeamishness after all this time.

Before the needle goes in he casts a brief, despairing look back on it all: cold, arch, handjob, train, vomit, rain, drugs. Rinse and repeat. He closes his eyes and rests his head tiredly against the brickwork behind him.

Well, things will probably get better. In fact, they're about to get a _whole_ lot better; carefully, all thumbs with his left hand, he pierces the throbbing vein in the crook of his arm and presses down on the syringe.

Hm.

That _is_ better.

Hmm.

He unpicks the tourniquet and laughs weakly, letting his head fall to the side. He hears footsteps and starts to grin, rubbing his arms loosely as the warmth spreads up them and through his entire body, holding him gently aloft from the ground.

'Hey man, you okay?'

His long legs jerk, spreading out. The sole of one of his boots is working itself loose. His heart speaks to him in a elusive kind of way.

'Hey. Hey. Can you hear me?'

It's not funny, but he can't stop laughing. The mouth of the alley is advancing and retracting and it's making the shadow in front of him grow and shrink, grow and shrink, wobbling and warping between the two heights like some kind of alien, and Toshiya laughs until he's gasping and his chest feels tight and his vision is squeezed down into tight, pulsing slits. At length, the shadows wear away. He's left alone, floating an inch or so off the pavement, watching the darkness move. Funny how in these moments he always thinks about

 

_a desk and a chair beneath the open window, and moths coming in, attracted by the light. They already have their bedding spread out over the floor and Toshiya is giddy-drunk, but he's nothing on Kaoru; his friend is flushed pink, his eyes closed, and though he speaks more or less normally – a particular skill of his, never sounding that drunk – there's a certain looseness to his limbs, a kind of ease about him that he doesn't normally have._

_They're fifteen and sixteen, and it's one of those summer nights where the darkness feels soft and black as ink, physical as fog. From Kaoru's house you can hear the frogs singing reedily out by the river, and Toshiya lays his body out on his futon, feeling dizzily content._

_'Hey...' a lurching, graceless movement and Kaoru is next to him, smelling of beer. 'You want to know something?'_

_Toshiya stretches his long, warm arms out. 'Uh huh.'_

_'Sometimes...'_

_Kaoru trails off, snorting, and then shakes his head. His smile fades away._

_'You like anybody right now?' he asks instead, and Toshiya shrugs._

_'Sorta hooked up with Mari. Don't tell anyone, though.'_

_'Oh.'_

_Toshiya looks up at him patiently, and Kaoru doesn't meet his eyes, but clumsily he butts his head forward and puts his mouth on Toshiya's. Their lips touch, stick for a moment, part with a soft noise. Kaoru's breathing in a strange, fast way, and he rolls quickly away from Toshiya and onto his back._

_Neither one of them speaks for a long time, and Toshiya tries to arrange his thoughts. He figures for Kaoru this is one of those just-a-phase kind of things, the sort of crush that will fade away and become an embarrassing and highly secret memory when he gets a girlfriend. The sort of crush that wheezes, exhales pressure, because it has nowhere to go._

_'Sometimes I feel like I'm making a big mistake,' Kaoru mumbles drunkenly, and Toshiya studies the ceiling. A trick of his eyes startles him into imagining birds in great flocks, birds_

 

all taking wing from the same ploughed winter field; birds, thousands of them, starlings in murmuration, endless formations rising and falling back on themselves, the whole sky breathing like a lung.

He opens his eyes. He smiles.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a **big loser** and I've been writing so much recently. Soz for the spam.
> 
> Here's a fact you don't know about Solongsun: I have a true and enduring love for starlings. Apart from their murmurations, which are objectively just super cool, they can also imitate a crazy variety of sounds. Additionally, they're kind of ugly, and I can dig it.
> 
> Equally, I have a true and enduring love for Toshiya, and I'm sorry he's such a wastrel in this story.


End file.
